a shattered façade
by mylordlannister
Summary: When Molly gets an unexpected visit from her two dearest friends, she finds that she can't fit into her made-up Muggle life anymore. She has to come out from behind the comfort of her artificial world and come back out to wizards and Muggles alike - though not as Molly Hooper, timid pathologist, but as Mary Margaret Selwyn, proudly half-blood. /indefinite hiatus/
1. in which snakes enter morgues

_'Lo all! I decided to start a Sherlock/HP fic just cause I think I've always wanted to have a witch!Molly story and well, I guess this is what you end up with when you've been reading excessive Sherlolly and having intense debates about the Slytherin House in general with your friends in around the same time periods haha c:_

_Do be so kind as to drop a review and tell me what you think of this! x_

_Disclaimer: Sherlock and Harry Potter most definitely do not belong to me! All credit goes to respective owners and their undeniable brilliance!_

_Enjoy!_

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She was used to it now; being overlooked. After all, she was only Molly Hooper here.

Her decision to go to a university and reenter the Muggle world after the War ended was definitely one of her better ones. Working at a morgue, especially one with such a large influx of corpses was slightly morbid work, but Molly knew she could handle it; she _had_, in fact, just been in a war.

But of course, she hadn't completely severed herself completely from the magical world, Merlin knew she wouldn't be able to take that. She still held a small job for the British Ministry of Magic that payed quite well: reporting and covering up any magical deaths that the Aurors might not have been able to get to in time. There was a surprising amount of dead werewolves, vampires, and wizards that came up and she had to quickly Portkey them to the Ministry before anyone took their records. It was a good, albeit exhausting sometimes, job.

Suffice to say, Molly had become quite competent at the _portus _spell since she'd arrived at St. Bart's.

* * *

And there was also Sherlock Holmes.

The man possessed a mind of pure brilliance; he could deduce almost anything about a person with just a glance. He never even caught a whiff of her little secret though, for which Molly was undeniably thankful and maybe-just-a-little-bit disappointed. All Sherlock probably thought about her was that she was a silly little girl with a huge crush on him, and that she'd do just about anything for him in exchange for a false smile and an even more artificial compliment.

So Molly was only slightly ashamed to say that yes, she _did_ find that he was aesthetically pleasing and that yes, she did have a _teensy_ crush, but honestly, she was in desperate need of something at least normal-_ish_ in her life.

Blaise always told her that holding a crush would do her a world of good. Draco would just roll his eyes and tell her that if whomever had managed to catch her attention also happened to do anything to harm her in any way, shape or form, then well… it was something that she wouldn't want to repeat in front of an audience, that's for sure...

* * *

Then one day, the lovely little world that she had created around herself in Muggle London came crashing down when Zabini and the Ferret decided to barge into her morgue, bringing along with them their usual smothering aura of happiness.

"Blaise? Draco?"

"'Lo, _cara_." "Hey midget." A tongue- Molly's- was stuck out petulantly.

Molly could only hope that they'd stay calm when Sherlock decided to deduce them, especially Draco, who had a notoriously short temper in spite of all the cheerfulness that he was exuding. Maybe John could rein his detective in this time? Molly knew the balance of probability said it was unlikely.

Oh sweet Circe and Morgana, speaking of deductions… "_You_ grew up with an extremely wealthy family, a very spoilt child. Went to… boarding school where you met our dear Miss Hooper," He swept an icy-blue-grey gaze back around to focus on Molly for a second before turning back to her now-expressionless platinum-blonde friend. "and the man standing right next to you. You've done things you've regretted very much, you've fought some kind of war recently, but you haven't been to Afghanistan recently, nor Iraq. So some kind of small-scale civil war then. And strangely enough, you see Molly Hooper as a…comrade-in-arms? You act like she fought alongside you when I should think I have substantial proof against _that_ notion."

"And who are you to say that she did not do her part on the battlefield?" Blaise interjected with a silky-smooth voice; the voice only put into use when he was negotiating contracts with people he disliked - almost everyone - his dark-brown-almost-black eyes narrowing dangerously at the detective.

"Oh! So you admit it?" He looked positively gleeful at the admission of a conflict.

"Of course, it's not something that we'd hide." Draco shrugged nonchalantly.

"Hm. She's a weak little thing, it would be against her nature to partake in any kind of fight." Sherlock scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in Molly's direction.

"Sherlock!" John hissed. "You can't just go around saying things like that to people!"

"I can and you'll find that _I just did_."

The ex-army doctor groaned frustratedly into his hands and sent a quick apology for his best friend to the Malfoy heir, who waved it off easily.

"Hm. You also grew up in privilege, neglected by your mother and dead father. No siblings," Sherlock began again with Blaise, who had an expression of mild interest plastered on whilst his eyes smouldered, "same boarding school, met him and her. You lost people important to you in that civil war. Originally Italian, but you moved to England when you were… four? No, six. Currently unemployed, close friend of Molly's but I can't see why. You two have no reason to be associating with each other, you run in completely different circles and the same with the other one," he gestured to Draco, who was looking even more frosty by the second towards Holmes-the-younger. John noticed the building tension and sighed quietly to himself. "She is of the middle class, vaguely intelligent, overall boring. You, on the other hand, are from the highest of the upper class, cunning, clearly much more _interesting_…"

Blaise sucked in a breath in an effort to assuage his temper and Molly silently glided over to Draco, sensing a potential crisis and placing one of her hands on top of his in an attempt to put out his easily-ignited fuse. The blonde's face remained closed-off, but his silvery eyes appeared to be less icy when he looked down at her.

"I think you'll find that you're wrong about her, Mr Holmes." The tanned boy told the detective lightly, almost as if he was trusting Sherlock with a well-kept secret of his. "Mary Margaret-" "Blaise, as much as I love you, _please _don't call me that." "-is much more resourceful than you could possibly imagine." He finished, giving the woman an expression of fondness just as she looked at him with amused irritation.

He clapped his hands together loudly, slinging an arm around his petite friend and gently guiding her out of her own morgue. "Come now, _cara_! Drake and I have a favour to ask of you…"

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_Please tell me what you think! To continue, or not to continue? x_


	2. in which the dangerous get drunk

_Allllrighty! First off, thank you so much to all those who reviewed and followed and favourited, it means the world to me! x_

_So I finally got this chapter up and proofread, thank god! Super super sorry for taking so long to get this done, but the plot bunnies just weren't attacking my brain. Hope you like this chapter and if there are any mistakes, please don't hesitate to tell me so I can get them fixed!_

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The trio had spent the rest of the day laughing and joking with each other, reestablishing the friendship that had lain dormant for years.

Blaise and Draco had been busy sorting out pureblood family business post-bellum; more so Draco than Blaise, and Molly had been intent on graduating university and securing herself a good job out in Muggle Britain. Nevertheless, they still clicked with one another, falling into easy banter despite the five years that had been spent with barely any contact between them.

"-and so the guy tells me to go get myself a boyfriend! A boyfriend!" Draco fumed, telling them a story about some nutjob that he'd encountered in a pub some time ago after one of his more frustrating days. Molly nearly choked herself laughing and Blaise sniggered into his drink. Draco pouted, clearly expecting his friends to be infuriated on his behalf.

"Why a boyfriend?" Molly managed between guffaws. "Apparently there've been some _things_ in the bloody Prophet about Potter and me." The put-out blonde replied sulkily. "_Skeeter_!" Blaise shrieked, slamming his hand on the table as a sign of his amusement. Molly just laughed harder.

As soon as she could get herself back under control, she giggled, "If it makes you feel any better, I should probably get one too!" At that, the Malfoy heir glowered at her and Blaise snorted, nearly spewing whiskey everywhere.

"How about that Holmes bloke, huh?" Draco spat defensively. Molly's pale cheeks bloomed a bright red and she sent her own glare back at him. Blaise only sniggered at them, barely just able to swallow his drink without much trouble.

* * *

Sherlock had left the morgue in a frenzy shortly after Molly did, ranting to John loudly about the two men she went with as he listened amusedly.

When they got back to 221B, the consulting detective immediately whipped off his Belstaff and took out his mobile, hurriedly texting someone, probably his elder brother, judging by the furious mutters of 'Mycroft' and 'thrice-damned favours'.

He'd clearly gotten the response he wanted and carelessly threw the device down on the coffee table and plunked down on the couch, immediately retreating into his Mind Palace.

John sighed exasperatedly and went down to Mrs Hudson's kitchen to fix himself some tea; god knows what kind of experiments were going on in theirs.

A knock on the door jarred the silence of the flat and the former army doctor rushed to answer it. A flushed young man was on the other side and handed a confused John two thick files before dashing back off down the street.

"John!" Sherlock's deep baritone reverberated from upstairs. "Bring the files up to me!"

He sighed again and resigned himself to bound up the steps and enter the chaos of his flat again. Placing the folders in his best friend's outstretched hand, John took a seat in his armchair.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he swung himself upright on the sofa and tore open the files, his blue-green eyes darting across the pages that were laden with information that John assumed, quite correctly, to be on the two young men that they'd met briefly in the morgue.

"Boring, boring, boring!" The man hissed, whipping through the pages with a greater and greater intensity.

"They all just say 'unknown'...!" He was about to dial a number on his mobile but it started ringing before he could even put in the first digit.

The detective answered with an irritated, "Mycroft. I assume you know what you've done."

The British government had obviously given an answer that Sherlock didn't like, since he actually _growled _into the phone. "What do you mean, you can't give me that information?"

He hung up before his brother could reply and threw the mobile at the wall in a fit of anger, grabbing his coat and scarf and striding through the door with only an imperative 'come along, John' over his shoulder.

* * *

At precisely three o'clock in the afternoon, after getting pleasantly tipsy at the pub, the trio decided to crash at whomever's flat was the nearest - Blaise's. He had a penthouse across the street from the only-slightly-shady establishment they had just frequented and luckily for Molly and Draco, he was kind enough to let them sleep in his spare bedroom.

"Thanks Blaise." Draco mumbled into his pillow. Molly grumbled in agreement, snuggling into the blonde's side. Their friend chuckled and affectionately ruffled their respective heads, shutting the door softly after him.

"Afternoon Dray." She muttered.

"G'night Marg." He groaned incoherently.

And with that, the witch and the wizard drifted off into sweet oblivion.

* * *

The Diogenes Club was in uproar. Sherlock Holmes was _storming _through with his blogger right at his heels, demanding that he had to see his brother right that second.

"Dear god, Sherlock. Must you be so noisy?" Mycroft sighed disapprovingly, opening the door to his office to let them in.

"'Fraid so." John muttered to him, nodding politely at the elder Holmes brother.

Sherlock decided to forgo the chair in front of his brother's desk and paced up and down the office instead whilst the former army doctor plopped down gratefully.

"Those two men, I asked for _useful _information Mycroft. _Useful_." He spat, blue eyes burning with a icy flame.

"I'm sorry to say, brother, but that was the most I am legally allowed to give you."

"Legally? Since when did you care about _legally_?"

The British Government's eyes turned hard and cold, "Do not question me, Sherlock. Do not ask for more than I gave you. They are dangerous. Tread carefully." His tone indicated an obvious dismissal and both Sherlock and John got the message when his eyes flickered towards the door.

* * *

"Morning sunshines!" Blaise Zabini was a dead man in Draco's book.

The platinum blonde rolled over in bed and moaned, blocking his eyes from the light flooding in from the windows his friend had just opened.

"Blaaaaaaaaise," Molly's whine came from his left side and he felt her burrow face-first into his side and he immediately tugged her closer in by slinging an arm around her waist.

The man had the audacity to laugh. "Come on, you lightweights, I made breakfast."

"Not a lightweight," Draco protested groggily. "Not hungover."

"Am a lightweight," Molly groaned, pulling a pillow over and putting it over her head, "am hungover."

Blaise sighed and yanked the blonde's pillow from under his head and Molly's from over hers. For good measure, he whipped the duvet off too before they could even think to make a move for it.

"Fine, fine. Getting up." Draco grumbled. He gently extracted his friend from the comfort of his body warmth and staggered over to the connecting bathroom to brush his teeth.

On the other hand, the young woman still in the bed appeared to have no intentions of getting up anytime soon so Blaise took pity on her and nudged her a few times to get her eyes open, shoving a hangover relieving potion in her hand.

"Drink this, it'll make you feel better."

Molly sluggishly maneuvered herself into an upright position, uncorked the opaque bottle and took a sniff just to make sure it was what her friend said it was. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but he _did _get his labels mixed up sometimes…

Luckily it actually was a hangover potion and she downed it easily, instantly feeling refreshed.

"Better Mols?"

"Much." She skipped up energetically and joined Draco in the bathroom to get ready for the rest of the day.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sherlock and John, but mostly Sherlock, were poring over the useless information about the two men that Molly was with, hoping to find something that would prove them to be the 'dangerous' men that Mycroft was claiming that they were.

"Anything?" John asked tiredly. He hadn't slept in what felt like forever and had been longing for the comfort of his bed for hours.

"Nothing," The detective muttered impatiently, dismissing his flatmate with a wave of his hand, "you can go now John. I heard you yawning…"

He nodded, letting out another yawn before trudging to his room and flopping bonelessly onto his lovely, lovely mattress.

Downstairs, the second most intelligent man in all of Great Britain let out a guttural growl of frustration, ruffling his inky-black curls angrily.

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_Do drop a review and tell me what you thought of this one or if there's anything you want to happen in this story, I'm kind of winging this one and I'd be extremely happy to receive some ideas to get this plot going! _

_Constructive criticism welcome, as always, and I hope you, dear reader, have a fantastic day! Spread the love! x_


	3. in which the sass makes an appearance

_Mkay, I have some apologies to dole out to you guys right now. First off, I'm so sorry for taking so long to get this chapter out. I've had a pretty busy end of 2014 and start of 2015 and it's been hard to find time to write in between everything going on right now! Secondly, I apologise for the shorter chapter and I'll try to get out a longer one for you guys next time! And thirdly, even though this isn't another apology, many thanks to everyone who's favourited, followed and reviewed for this story! It really means the world to me!_

_So now everything's been apologised for properly and thanks have been given out, the chapter awaits and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! x_

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Breakfast was a jovial affair with a few flying strawberries and more than one pancake decorating the floor whilst the boys roared with laughter at the unfortunate orange juice stain on Molly's trousers despite the fact that she'd already poured the citrusy drink all over their heads for laughing at it in the first place.

The young woman herself had her arms crossed petulantly over her chest and her lips in an endearing pout. "It was an accident!" She insisted, only to be answered with laughter of increased volume.

Molly huffed, getting up and striding back to her room to change for work, hiding a small smile of her own as howls of laughter followed her from the kitchen.

* * *

Even after just one day back with her boys, everything just seemed _too_ normal here. She got in on time, as per usual, she had her morning coffee, just like every other day, and Mike had let her know on her way in that Scotland Yard was due to come in at around eleven for a body and if she could please do the autopsy asap?

Molly sighed internally even as she kept up her muggle façade and like the little meek girl she was supposed to be playing, she easily agreed and spent her break cutting up the cadaver and recording her findings. Scotland Yard usually meant DI Lestrade and DI Lestrade usually meant Sherlock Holmes. She was most definitely not ready for what could possibly be the greatest interrogation of all time for her, regarding the boys.

The victim, which was apparently interesting enough for NSY to come and investigate, ended up being a bit of a let-down. Cause of death? Ricin poisoning. Not all that common, but it certainly had less… flair that Molly was expecting.

* * *

She ended up performing some lab work and other autopsies at a leisurely pace, losing track of the time. When morgue doors suddenly burst open, Molly started, hitting her knees from under the table and groaning softly in pain.

Taking a quick glance at the quietly ticking clock hanging alone on the wall, she noted that it was exactly two minutes past eleven and judging from the rather dramatic entrance, the balance of probability said it was Sherlock Holmes and John Watson arriving.

She looked over her shoulder in the direction of the entrance and lo and behold, Sherlock and John were striding in.

Before the consulting detective could even fully open his mouth to start the list of demands he surely had for her so that he could get to the bottom of the case, Molly had already interrupted him, "My recorder's on the desk over there and the hard copies of files on the guy are next to it. Body's in storage if you need it and the coffee machine's in the staffroom. Call for me if you want anything else." Her tone told them that they better not want anything else and she promptly turned back to her bacteria, calmly ignoring the gaping pair of idiots behind her.

As if she couldn't get at least a _bit_ standoffish when the day wasn't really going her way.

Sherlock, ever the dramatic one, turned sharply on his heel and started rifling through the extensive files obnoxiously loudly. John, on the other hand, gave her a smile she couldn't see and a pat on her pointedly turned back, discreetly whispering a 'nice job' in her ear. Molly grinned to the microscope at that and pretended she didn't hear John, taking down notes in her signature messy scrawl and whispering a 'thanks' subtly over her shoulder. John acknowledged it with a soft chuckle before going over to his flatmate.

* * *

Not any more than five minutes later, Sherlock was done with gathering his evidence and made sure Molly knew it by making an extremely dramatic exit, calling in an annoyed tone for John to hurry up from the corridor, where his heavy footfalls could be heard loud and clear on the linoleum floor. The man in such apparent demand laughed good-naturedly and bid Molly a hasty goodbye before running off after his troublesome partner as per usual.

She smiled fondly after the duo, it wasn't her fault she had a bit of a soft spot for them. After all, they had stopped her muggle life from getting _too _boring, especially with that whole Moriarty thing.

But no longer. Now her magic had been long since healed from the devastation it had suffered from the Second Blood War and the spark within her to venture back into the Wizarding World had been ignited by none other than her two dearest friends, Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini.

As it stood, Lady Mary Margaret Hooper-Selwyn, the Last Scion of the Ancient and Noble House of Selwyn, was back in business.

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_Mm, things are going to start getting a bit more exciting and will hopefully lead up into the proper plot now! As always, any constructive criticism is welcome and anything that you guys want to request in the story, like pairings or plot twists, just PM me your ideas or leave them in the reviews. _

_Hope you liked this one and may fortune smile upon you! x_


	4. in which friends and flobberworms mingle

_So, so sorry for such a late update! Everything's just been a bit stressful since we've finally gotten a lease through on a really great house (whoop!) but then there's the downside of actually, physically moving everything, which is really, really tiring (ugh). _

_I greatly appreciate all of your suggestions for pairings and I'm so glad that people are receiving this story well; much better than I initially expected, actually, so here's to all of you who have reviewed and favourited and followed _a shattered façade_, I couldn't thank you enough__! _

_And more about the direction that this story is going in; as I mentioned in the previous chapter, any suggestions about pairings are appreciated, so just PM me any ideas you might have or leave them in the reviews. _

_Now, onwards with the story!_

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Draco reluctantly adjusted his gold cufflinks and checked over his appearance one more time in the ridiculously large gilded mirror that decorated the majority of one of his bedroom walls. Well, if he was going to be forced to attend another one of the Ministry's semi-annual galas to encourage unity or something, he might as well be the best-looking bastard there. Nodding approvingly at his reflection and ruffling his silvery-white hair one more time for luck, Draco stalked out of his room and to the reception hall, turning sharply on his heel mid-stride and Apparating to the appointed Ministry banquet hall.

Hopefully Marg would be in attendance of this one, seeing as it marked the five-year anniversary of the end of the war. He knew the Scarhead, Ginger and Beaver would be glad to see her there. It was beyond him how she managed to befriend the Golden Brats, although he'd tolerate them if only for her sake. After all, she was one of his nearest and dearest friends.

* * *

Earlier on that day, she got some unpleasant news from Kingsley, an old acquaintance of hers from the war days.

He'd informed her that there had been an alert of some unauthorised digging into her boys' files and warned her to keep an eye out for any suspicious characters since the Aurors still hadn't rounded up all the rogue Death Eaters yet. The majority of them most definitely had it out for Draco, a traitor in their eyes, and the entire wizarding world knew it.

All Molly knew was that she was prepared to do anything to keep her friend safe and sound, especially after she'd just gotten him back.

* * *

Arriving just in time to claim his seat, Draco noticed Blaise flagging him down and immediately changed his direction to stride confidently over, sneaking in a roguish smirk at a group of twittering young witches. "Hey," he greeted the Italian with a smirk.

"Hey yourself, have you seen Mary Margaret anywhere?"

"Nope, is she here?" Draco impulsively craned his head in an attempt to spot the girl.

"She said she would be here this time." Blaise replied, casually taking a sip of his champagne.

"And maybe she'll finally have that accursed glamour off, it makes her look older than she is." His handsome visage contorted distastefully at the thought but knew it was necessary for her to at least look in her late twenties to secure her a position at that supposedly prestigious Muggle hospital, especially since she was female. Making another unpleasant face at the thought of their girl not being seen to be good enough for an occupation unless she had reached a certain age or happened to be a certain sex, he snatched Blaise's glass and stole a sip of the bubbly alcohol too. It was outrageous that they could ever think she wasn't up for the job! That little Ravenclaw was the smartest person he knew, she could probably give _Granger_ a run for her galleons.

Hm, maybe that was why the Bookworm got along with Marg so well. The Princess of Gryffindor, as Granger was now known, _was_ known to like a little competition every now and then.

Blaise chose to scowl viciously in favour of scolding Draco for not just grabbing his own flute from the nearest waiter. "Those Muggles don't know a thing about our Mary Margaret, she's more than capable of what they're asking her for."

Draco nodded in agreement, recalling all the hard work Marg did to keep up with both the Muggle and Wizarding curriculum: all-nighters filled with studying Transfiguration and Arithmancy and something called 'physics?' and many, many Pepper-Up potions and eventually falling asleep on Ravenclaw common room couches only to wake up, go through their respective classes and do it all over again no less than twelve hours later.

So all in all, there was no doubt in either Draco nor Blaise's minds that Mary Margaret Selwyn worked her cute little ass off in order to get where she was and by Merlin's fluffy white blessed beard, she of all people deserved to find peace after that thrice-damned War.

Especially since she saved the Golden Brats' lives a few times over (made all the better since they were _apparently _war heroes) and of course, more importantly, saved Draco Malfoy himself from going batshit crazy in the Manor.

"Draco! Blaise!" A cheerful shout broke him out of his reverie.

"Mary Margaret!" "Marg!" The two men jumped up and enthusiastically hugged their friend, delighting in her pretty countenance that was no longer hidden from the world; and she was the very definition of a beautiful young lady with her gentle waves of chestnut locks, high cheekbones, bright hazel eyes, petite figure and boundless energy.

"How have you two been?" She asked, her eyebrows scrunching up in concern.

"Just fine, why?" Blaise replied and Draco returned much the same sentiments.

Marg frowned slightly, looking displeased. "I've been informed there have been some 'investigations into your persons', it's nothing serious for now but if anything happens to get out of control, I'm going straight to Kingsley and demanding my rights to go after whoever is stupid enough to come after you two."

"I'd expect nothing less," Draco murmured, briefly brushing his lips across her temple in a casual sign of affection and Blaise smiled gently at the fierce little raven, inclining his head in respect and acknowledgement; a very Slytherin gesture.

* * *

Exhausting. The ball was absolutely, positively _exhausting_. Never in her life was she obliged to dance with so many people or pretend to simper and giggle blankly at so many comments from stuck-up idiots.

Draco, the bloody bastard, being the sole male heir of such a powerful and feared house, wasn't subject to the all the games and tangled webs of female politics in the pureblood world and was probably chuckling madly at her misfortune. With Molly being a half-blood, but still being fortunate enough to inherit a large estate from her deceased father, she was the subject to the brunt of backstabbing and gossip when she dared venture into magical high society. Luckily, she did know how to conduct herself properly and viciously manoeuvre things into her favour under the guise of utter politeness and unfailing courtesy.

Maybe the sneaky little snake _did _have more use than laughing at her bad luck in some dark corner of the ballroom and honestly, she would always be grateful for his little 'etiquette' lessons… but that still didn't excuse him from leaving her to the mercy of those horrid flobberworms for brains!

* * *

"…so how exactly _did _you know all of that about those two boys?"

Sherlock snorted derisively as if to convey 'it's just about as obvious as that zit on your forehead', but still couldn't resist the urge to show off his deductive skills yet again for a more-than-willing audience. "The first thing that sticks out is their differing accents. The Italian had a slight hint of an accent but mostly took after an English upperclassman. The blonde had a drawl, indicative of a high-class upbringing and Molly sounds as though she hails from Home Counties or somewhere close to there so she might pick up the accent. Never would three children with such differing regional patterns of speech and social classes happen to come across one another and cultivate such a friendship, unless they all went to some kind of meeting place for children from all over Britain; probability says that it was a boarding school of some kind.

"Upbringing is immediately implied through their grooming, posture and subtle ingrained habits, not too much of a stretch to make. The two males are evidently of the upper class and Molly is clearly from a middle class family.

"I would also be hard-pressed to miss the signs and aftereffects of a being soldier, especially after having met you, John, don't take me for an idiot. They are constantly on their guard; their eyes take in all the exits to a room immediately after they walk in. They take cautiously defensive stances when they must be sedentary and automatically assume a position where, should they be attacked by anyone in the room, they will be in the best possible position to defend themselves and neutralise their attackers. They were also slightly more inclined towards Molly than an ordinary person would be, as if they're obligated to protect her, not just out of love- although it _is_ a powerful motivator- they look guilty when they see her as if they must atone for something. That they are subtly leaned in towards her indicate that she has done something for them that warrants their protection of her.

"I knew they weren't fighting in Iraq or Afghanistan, as you were, because firstly- no indicative tans of any sort and secondly- they seem more keyed to defend themselves even from people they trust implicitly, rather than rely on their comrades to keep them safe. Both males were prepared to defend Molly, whilst also giving off slight tells that they wouldn't be caught off guard if she became hostile. That wouldn't come as a result of being in the Middle East, where those on your side would, according to basic statistics, actually be on your side- it would have be an independent, isolated war where they wouldn't be able to trust _anyone_." Sherlock looked grim by the end of it, as if he'd just came upon the realisation that if those two boys were driven to such measures, Molly might've too and John _did _like to think that the self-proclaimed sociopath considered the endearing girl as a friend of-sorts...

"Wow," was all the former Captain could manage, and it wasn't exactly in the way he'd usually mean it when Sherlock would make a particularly impressive deduction, "we have to go find Molly."

Sherlock agreed almost immediately, snatching his Belstaff from the coatrack and draping it hastily over his lanky frame. John followed close behind, just managing to struggle into his own overcoat and get out the door before it slammed shut behind the swishing hem of his overly dramatic friend's woolen abomination.

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_Shoutout to _Mage of Chaos_ for reminding me about sticking in some explanations for the deductions made about Draco and Blaise in the first chapter! I had a ton of fun writing it all up and luckily for me, it's leading into a very promising confrontation scene between our favourite Slytherins and the Baker Street boys!_

_As always, constructive criticism welcome and I hope you like how the story's progressing so far! I wish you all an absolutely, positively lovely day! x_


	5. in which cafés host confrontations

_Alright, this one is up! I just had a lovely holiday in France, but alas there was very limited internet and I couldn't post for the past couple of days! Hopefully, this entry does get the plot thickening and gets the building blocks of a conflict beginning to be hashed out. Any ideas or plot twists you'd like to see in the story, leave them in the reviews or PM me and I'll see what I can do! Thank you once again to everyone who's favourited, followed, reviewed and taken the time to read this story, it's so wonderful to know that you guys are liking the way this is headed! _

_Also - an update on the pairings! For this one I've been really leaning towards MollyxDraco thing, but I will be putting up a poll on my profile and you, dear reader, can vote on whichever couple tickles your fancy!_

_Enough from me for now though, and onwards with the story!_

_Enjoy! x_

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By the time that John had caught up to Sherlock, the man already had his phone out and was texting someone furiously, presumably Molly. Apparently he'd gotten a satisfactory reply, since his lips curled up triumphantly and he hailed a cab.

Almost immediately, one pulled up to the kerb and both men quickly slid in, Sherlock barking out an address and throwing in a five pound note for extra incentive to go more quickly. London traffic proved a formidable opponent and eventually, the detective growled audibly, threw assorted monetary notes at the cabbie and stalked out of the cab, John scrambling after him.

* * *

Seven minutes walk later and the pair arrived at a quaint café a few streets down from the Natural History Museum where Molly and the bleach-blonde man sat calmly, drinking tea and chatting.

Sherlock stormed in, nabbing a chair from an empty table and pulling it up to theirs, plopping into it gracelessly. John went for a quieter approach, sighing and politely setting himself down for the hostilities- ehem- _conversation_.

* * *

The chatter between her and Draco had ceased the moment that she'd caught sight of Sherlock making his way determinedly across the way with John at his heels. "Prepare for the inquisition," Molly quipped. Draco chuckled lightly in response. "Make sure you don't lose your temper, Marg, we _are_ in Muggle London, you know..." "Ha-ha, very funny. And that was only _once_, thank-you-very-much!"

Once Sherlock and John had taken their seats, the silence surrounding them was stifling and Molly shifted uncomfortably in her chair, wanting very badly to make some kind of contact with the familiarity of her trusty rowan wand.

"So," Sherlock's sharp baritone cut through the tension like a hippogriff's talons, "care to explain that war you had going on?"

Straight to the point of the matter.

Draco's unchanged posture didn't give any hints towards his desire to avoid the topic, but his magic went haywire in response and Molly knew that all it would just feel like to John and Sherlock was an unexplainable, dangerous ambience suddenly filling the air.

His reply was measured, and his voice cold and distant. "What makes _you_ think that you can poke and prod into _my_ business as you are doing, Mr Holmes?" Sherlock sneered in return, "When _you're _giving off so many obvious indications projected for all the world to see, they're automatically fair game to... 'prod', as you say, _Mr Malfoy_."

"Ever heard of discretion, Sherlock?" Molly's quiet but authoritative voice cut in. "Some things should stay hidden." She made her tone deceptively light, but judging by John's spine suddenly stiffening, she knew he could feel the underlying threat to her words, even if Sherlock disregarded it in favour of what he thought was a game in his favour.

The detective turned to address her, "The truth always comes out, Molly, _you_ of all people should know that." His barb at her was ignored, she knew better than to rise to the bait. Sure, she did postmortems to find the cause of death and sure, she'd assisted in apprehending murderers, but she had been on this Merlin-blessed Earth long enough to know that sometimes, ignorance was bliss.

"Always?" Draco interjected silkily, leaning forward and deliberately placing his elbows on the table, hands folded calmly between them, never one to resist the subtle power-plays of dominance, especially with men he disliked.

"Always." Sherlock replied stubbornly, eyes flashing icily as he himself crossed his arms and casually reclined in his own uncomfortable coffee shop seat, telling the Malfoy heir without words that he wasn't going to be cowed by a man such as him. Molly rolled her eyes in annoyance, flicking her eyes over to the former army doctor, noting that he was instinctively clued into the underlying tension between the two belligerent imbeciles but really had no idea what everything truly meant. She could forgive him for that though; soldiers tended to be more straightforward and less inclined to the more diplomatic tactics that more slippery men than them had honed to an art.

* * *

Draco assessed the antagonistic Muggle sitting across from him silently, knowing that his unusually silver eyes could be quite off-putting when he stared, and so that's exactly what he did. To his credit, the Muggle didn't even flinch at the intent look that had been cast upon him, but Draco's magic _did _detect a subtle shift in his stupidly unguarded thoughts, one that _screamed_ discomfort from the Muggle detective. Satisfied with his appraisal of the man, the blonde sat back smugly in his chair, an infallibly polite expression gracing his aristocratic features.

"Do stop trying to unnerve them, Dray." Marg scolded him amusedly. A quick glance at her proved that her mouth was turned up ever-so-slightly and Draco knew he was off the hook. "Yes, _do _stop staring." The Muggle detective man remarked snidely, erasing any goodwill that Draco might've had towards him after his actually-rather-satisfactory evaluation of the man. He did always like ones that didn't back down, even in the presence of fear.

Sitting up straighter just as his mother had taught him, the young scion to House Malfoy had a cold, commanding air about him. "I will do as I please, Mr Holmes."

He heard Marg let out an exasperated sigh and he let out a gentle, reassuring tendril of magic from his tightly guarded mind to reach out to hers. She sent one back in record time, conveying her frustration with the Holmes man and Draco himself, although there was an underlying fondness for him lacing her thoughts and Draco let himself have a triumphant smirk; Margie favoured him over the Muggle and what was better, the man didn't even know it- though it should've been quite obvious- she would never choose _him_ over her oldest friend any day, not even for all the gold in Gringotts.

A staring contest was about to ensue between the two men and Draco knew that Marg knew that it was a disaster waiting to happen. "So, shall we - er - go someplace else? To, uh, talk?" Her suggestion was immediately met with enthusiastic agreement by the shorter, quieter Muggle man and the hostile one smirked. "Your place then, Molly? Wonderful. I'll go hail a cab." He left no time for Marg to reply to his ill-mannered assumption and Draco had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to take much more of this Muggle.

"Whoa there, mate." His tone was one of forced ease. "You don't do that, it's one thing to force your company on someone in a public space and it's another to invite yourself into their house and home. I'll only tell you once- bugger off." Both men rose from the table to take aggressive positions and Draco knew that he was just about two seconds away from knocking the Muggle detective's block off.

"You don't mind, do you Molly?"

"As a matter of fact, I _do_." Her reply was acerbic and her eyes narrowed dangerously.

The only reply the Muggle could muster up was an incredulous gape, as if he couldn't understand how she wasn't okay with him forcing him and his company into what was rightfully _her _space. Draco snorted at his imperiousness and what's more; the man had the nerve to 'harrumph' and turn tail on them, shouting for his other Muggle friend to 'hurry up' over his shoulder even as his lanky legs brought his form farther and farther away from the café.

The quieter Muggle; John- Draco recalled what his name was with only slight difficulty- awkwardly jumped out of his chair and left the duo with a polite, albeit embarrassed, smile and wave before running off after his troublesome friend.

* * *

"Well _that_ was something," Molly attempted with a smile-turned-grimace. Draco hummed in agreement, calmly finishing off his coffee, lounging languidly in his chair.

Without any warning, he bounced up, a smile curving his cupid's bow as he bent his arm playfully towards her. "Blaise should be arriving at Mother's now! Shall we?"

Molly laughed gaily, accepting his offer graciously, the pair making quite the picture-perfect couple; one tall, regal, blonde and the other petite and cheerful with ringlets of bronze cascading down her back.

Finding an empty alley was easy work, but ensuring that no passersby became suspicious enough to follow them down when two wealthy-looking young adults decided to veer down a grimy wynd was considerably more difficult. Casting a quick Notice-Me-Not charm, Molly yanked Draco down a convenient back way and Apparated out to Malfoy Manor without drawing too much unwanted attention.

"Thanks alot Marg," the young man griped, finding himself toppled over on the neat lawns of the Manor, as she hadn't given him much warning and wizarding travel could be quite… rough, for lack of a better term.

They strode purposefully past the Malfoy family's collective of peacocks, past the absolutely enchanting gardens that Molly never failed to be in awe of, no matter how many times she'd visited the sprawling estate- which was a significant amount of occasions- and past the set of large, foreboding oak doors and entered the foyer, servants bowing in sync at their young master and his usual lady friend.

* * *

Lady Narcissa Malfoy was waiting for them in her parlour, Blaise cutting an elegant figure on a settee whilst delicately sipping from a china teacup. "My greetings to you Lady Selwyn," Narcissa immediately stood at their arrival, sweeping Molly out of Draco's grasp and brushing kisses on each of her cheeks. "Thank you Lady Malfoy, for your kind welcome," the younger girl murmured politely in reply.

The Lady of the House ushered her son and her into their respective places, cooing, "No need for such titles, dear, do just call me Narcissa." Molly gave a 'yes, Narcissa' in reply, urging her host to address her by her given name in turn.

"Very gracious of you, Mary Margaret," Draco's mother replied primly, finally taking her own seat after supplying tea and biscuits to the new arrivals.

The quartet exchanged the rudimentary pleasantries, if only to uphold their Pureblood reputations, but Molly felt that enough was enough and that the three serpents should be getting to the heart of the issue if they wanted to keep the ultimate goal of their little gathering in sight. "If you would, what exactly do you wish to ask of me, Lady Malfoy, Lord Malfoy, Mister Zabini?"

The three Slytherins looked slightly embarrassed that they'd been outmaneuvered by a Ravenclaw - a highly Slytherin-influenced Ravenclaw, but a Ravenclaw nonetheless. Blaise was the one to wince awkwardly and pick up the slack. "…well, uh, _cara_? Do you recall that favour that Draco and I were going to ask of you?"

"Three days ago at the morgue? Yes, I do recall quite clearly, Blaise dear." Molly kept her tone sunny, but added a razor-sharp edge to it that promised unimaginable pain if they didn't stop frolicking around the Flutterby.

"Right then," he continued on valiantly, shifting awkwardly in his seat, "uh, there's not really a way to put this delicately…"

"Rabastan's gotten loose." Narcissa cut in smoothly, making unwavering eye contact with the young Lady of her House even as she saw the girl's small form stiffen- but with fear or anger, she did not know.

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_Please do tell me how I'm doing with this story, I'd love to have some feedback! Constructive criticism is, as always, welcome and don't forget to leave your vote in the poll! _

_I hope you all have a lovely, lovely day and may any endeavours you take on be successful! c:_


	6. in which fates are sealed

_Hi everyone! Sorry for the super long wait in getting this chapter out, but it's getting near the end of the school year and as you all probably know, this means final exams. *weary sigh* I've really been putting the pressure on myself because next year, I'll be starting the International __Baccalaureate (IB) programme and I really, really need some good grades to get the Higher Levels that I want to be in, approved. So this means that I'll probably not get another chapter out for you guys until June or so, when I finally get my holiday._

_I've also got a school project going on right now to create a positive digital image and i made a tumblr for it. I'll mostly be blogging things about my travels and various other things in my life that have caught my interest - and if you guys could go take a look and see if it interests you (and possibly even follow me? *hopeful eyes*) then that would make my day! A link will be up on my profile, should anyone have the time to spare. :)_

_Any ideas for future chapters, please do PM me or leave it in the reviews, I love hearing from you guys! Any pairings, there does exist a poll on my profile so please vote if you haven't already! :) _

_Apologies again for the shorter chapter, but I really haven't had a whole lot of time to keep writing in this past month._

_Enjoy! x_

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"Lestrange?" Molly suddenly felt faint, her hand coming up to rest on the apple of her cheek.

"What other Lestrange do we know?" Draco scoffed. "Dear Auntie Bella met her end on the wrong side of the Mummy Weasel's wand and you killed that idiot Rodolphus."

Molly winced in reply, "Don't remind me…" Her mind immediately supplied her with the gruesome death that had befallen the husband of her dearest friend's aunt by her own wand. Being torn open and having your entrails spilling out as you bleed to death really wasn't the prettiest way to see someone die, but for all the cruelty Rodolphus Lestrange had so freely given, it was only right for her to allow her more-than-negative emotions towards the stinking Death Eater to influence her magic…

…right?

Either way, Molly thought, shaking her head to jump back on her previous line of thinking, he should be brought in and assigned a cell in the high-security sector of Azkaban.

"Has Harry been called in?" She wondered aloud, finally emerging from the depths of her own mind and back into the Lady Malfoy's parlour.

Blaise sighed heavily and scrubbed a hand against a weary face, looking far older than his meager twenty three years. "No, Potter's refused the job."

Draco snorted in disgust and Lady Narcissa looked like someone had just shoved a lemon in her mouth. "Idiot's been in his _honeymoon_ phase with his _fianc__é__e _for the past three weeks, at least. Selfish git." He spat.

"Oh," Molly suddenly looked subdued, her form somehow collapsing in on itself so she looked even smaller than she usually did, "so it's me then?"

Blaise was quick to reassure her, a hand already making it's way to rest comfortingly on her forearm. "It doesn't have to be, _cara_, we wouldn't make you do anything you don't want to, never! It's just that you were the best choice after Potter- you're a hero in everyone's eyes." His attempt to console her apparently worked, since the fear and uncertainty had fled from her expression and all that was left was a strong, determined young woman.

"Wouldn't want to let anyone down, then," she joked weakly, a small smile lighting her deceptively delicate features.

And so her fate was sealed.

* * *

John Watson was honest-to-god at his wits' end with Sherlock-_bloody_-Holmes. The bloke was pacing up a whirlwind in their flat, footsteps sounding heavily on the floorboards and frustrated mutterings travelling through thin walls so that John had absolutely no chance of escaping them.

"Will you _shut. Up!_" He yelled from his bedroom, hands over ears in an attempt to stop the sound waves coming from his idiotically genius flatmate from reaching his eardrums (just for the record, it didn't help a lick).

The noise abruptly stopped and John could just imagine the petulant expression that Sherlock was probably making. At least he stopped though, the extremely relieved former army medic thought, cautiously removing his palms from the sides of his head and letting out a happy sigh at the blessed silence, finally able to drift off into a comfortable sleep.

* * *

The next morning, John woke up to the usual clattering and banging from downstairs. He groaned and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, wearily snatching his dressing gown and tying it firmly around his waist before plodding sluggishly down to the kitchen.

"Morning John!" Sherlock's oddly cheerful voice intoned a greeting.

John received it grumpily, ignoring his flatmate in favour of the tea sitting on the table in their sitting room, plopping gracelessly into his armchair and savouring the still-warm Earl Grey to wake him up properly.

"Awake now, John?" The curly-haired menace inquired, an undertone of amusement in his voice. "Quite." He replied shortly.

"Well," Sherlock clapped his hands together in the usual fashion, "we have to get an early start today! Murderers on the loose, you know!"

John hummed, finishing off his tea and springing up, dusting his hands on his dressing gown. "I'll just go change then and we'll be off."

"Be quick John!" And the consulting detective got a huff and a slammed door in reply.

* * *

"I do have to get back to work now, it was a lovely weekend dears," Molly told them firmly, planting a light kiss on both Blaise and Draco's cheeks.

"You know you're welcome here anytime." Draco took her by the shoulders and looked directly into her eyes as she nodded solemnly and he took her into a tight embrace. "Take care, alright? There's only one Mary Margaret Selwyn, we can't just replace you at the drop of a hat." She laughed softly and drew away.

"Same goes for you, and Muggle London won't be _that _bad, you know?" Molly teased. "We don't speak of Muggle London," Blaise replied sombrely, "it's Lestrange."

The young woman sighed heavily, "I know, I'll be setting up wards today."

"Good." The Malfoy Heir said shortly. "Do you want us to add in our family wards?" Blaise added concernedly, not even having to look to Draco to know that he would be jumping at the chance to give their dearest friend some extra protection.

Molly shook her head. "I know your family wards, remember?" "Oh yeah..."

"I think we'd still like to take a look ourselves at your protections." Draco put his two pence in and the female's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Just for our sake of mind, nothing else!" Blaise tried to defuse the situation as quickly as he could.

"Good save, Zabini," Molly snapped and turned on her heel to stride angrily to the outskirts of the manor to Disapparate, "and fine!" She threw over her shoulder, unwilling to allow their minds to turn themselves inside-out with worry, no matter how agitated she was with them.

The two Slytherins exchanged relieved grins.

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_Really sorry to have to leave you guys off there, but there will be better (and longer!) chapters awaiting on the other side of the darkness that is known as my final exams! _

_Please do go vote in that poll concerning pairings and pretty please check out my tumblr project - both are up on my profile! - and lots of gratitude and love to everyone who's favourited and followed and reviewed for this story! Keep being great you lot, and wish me luck on my exams! x_


	7. in which morgue-crashers morgue-crash

_Super sorry for the crap update, everyone! I've been having a really slow month and the muse hasn't been hitting me lately, ugh. Hope this tides you guys over for some better updates once I get myself to crack down on this story! SAT prep courses take a lot out of a girl, I can definitely attest to that._

_By the way, 4000 views guys! This is insane you all, and my thanks a million times over for everyone who has read and reviewed and followed and favourited this one; it means so, so much to me! x_

_Don't forget to vote on the coupling for this story! The poll's open and on my profile and so far, I can you tell you lot that Draco's winning..._

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Molly skipped happily into work, glad to be free of the weight of responsibility on her shoulders from the Wizarding World; even if only for the afternoon and evening shifts at the morgue. She knew that it was only logical that she'd be singled out to go after the final Lestrange, especially after her actions in the Second Blood War.

Escaping from the war-torn world that she'd been born into was probably the best thing for her to do at the time and even now, Molly stood stalwart by her decision. She'd never be able to fully escape what she'd been through, but keeping herself at a distance until she was ready to make a return was better for her state of mind and state of magic. It had taken a severe hit during the War since she was overusing it and straining her not-yet-mature core. Living the Muggle way for the past couple of years had significantly helped it stabilise in her transition from teenager to adult, and also replenish since she had nearly allowed her magic to collapse in on itself, and she would've been left as a Squib.

Her work that day was pretty mindless; the endless paperwork that was piling up on her desk was a welcome reprieve from the cautious mindset she had to take when performing autopsies. Luckily, there was no Sherlock Holmes to bother her today; he was probably out solving cases for the Yard or sitting in his flat being bored as John worked at the local clinic. Either way, it was keeping him and his chaos away from her and her fragile peace.

* * *

At Molly's lunch break, she decided it was high time to place her wards around Bart's and snuck out the back to begin perimeter warding without arousing too much suspicion - one of the hospital's esteemed doctors wandering around the facility, muttering and waving a stick around probably wouldn't sit too well with the general public, after all.

Basic intruder wards went up first, alerting Molly to anyone not registered to enter Bart's… well, entering Bart's. Getting a hold of the entire employee and volunteer list was a real hassle, but well worth it, since she got everyone's names and identification markers into the wards and a copy of the lists herself - self-updating ones so that she'd know if anyone new was hired. Next, she put up wards that evaluated the intentions of people entering and reacted accordingly so that anyone with the intentions of maiming or killing her, namely Lestrange, would be hit with heavy Stunners and Full Body-Binds for later interrogation purposes. She laced the Selwyn, Malfoy and Zabini family wards through the ones she'd already made for the extra protection and knowledge that her workplace was protected by tried-and-tested wards against intrusions and hostiles.

Satisfied with her work, Molly scarfed down a sandwich before hurrying back off to her paperwork; the wards had taken up a good part of her short lunch break.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had resorted to going through the Yard's bloody cold cases… again.

This meant boredom and boredom was certainly not a good sign.

John was dozing in a chair not even three metres away with a cup of now-cold coffee sitting on the table in front of him and some drool hanging precariously from his open mouth.

Sherlock sprang up from his own seat loudly, clapping his hands together for added effect. As expected, the good doctor jerked awake, eyes flashing open and nearly falling out of his chair.

"Let's go visit Molly!" the detective decided. Surely she'd have some cadavers out, seeing as she was pencilled in at the morgue from 1100 to 1700hr on Mondays.

John groaned, rubbing sleep from bleary eyes and grudgingly finding his feet to follow Sherlock's brisk pace out of New Scotland Yard. "Wait up, you prat!"

"Time waits for no one, John!" was the over-the-shoulder reply.

* * *

So scratch that easy day then. Sherlock Holmes had taken it upon himself to make an appearance in her morgue.

"Molly!" his smile was all teeth and unsettlingly not so unlike a wolf's.

"...Sherlock." the pathologist's reply was cautious and deadpan, unwilling to give anything away.

"Any fresh autopsies?" the detective asked in reply, craning his neck in an attempt to see if any of the tables had bodies on them. Molly huffed, "Not today, Sherlock- I was doing paperwork for my entire shift." The man pouted, slouching forward infinitesimally.

She sighed tiredly. "Is there anything you wanted, Sherlock? If not, could you please let me get back to my work?" Her implications, as in 'bloody sod off already', were clearly understood, since Sherlock's grey-blue irises looked to her own in confusion at her newly acquired attitude.

He nodded shortly, turning on his heel and striding out of the hospital just as John came running in. "Let's go, John." His speech was curt as the poor doctor looked up at him in disbelief.

"So I just ran over here to keep up with you and just as I come in, you decide to leave?!" John panted angrily. "Yes," Sherlock spoke as if he was conversing with a small child, "now keep up, John."

* * *

"When is she getting back?" Draco whined, probably for the millionth time. Blaise sighed with the air of a man whose patience was quickly running out, "Soon- she said she'd be home by dinner and it's only five-thirty now."

The impatient blonde huffed.

"...so she should be here soon?"

The Italian boy threw up his hands in exasperation. "Why don't you just text her and ask for yourself!?"

"Oooh good idea, Blaise-y," Draco cooed, reaching for his mobile, "why didn't you say so earlier?"

Blaise looked up at his flat's minimalist white ceiling and let loose an indignant squawk of frustration.

"No need to be so wound up," the boy on the couch opposite him noted primly, fingers flying on his phone's keypad and not even having to look up at his friend to know that he was Extremely Peeved Off.

Blaise mimed strangling Draco.

Draco mimed a desperate struggle for air.

Conveniently, the door burst open and Marg walked in on them right in the middle of their horseplay.

"..."

"So you two just arsed around all day whilst I had to do paperwork for eight hours."

They were quick to deny it, "No, no, no! You literally just walked in on-" "-me and Blaise were working just a second ago, I swear!"

"Right." She deadpanned grumpily, taking a moment to drop her bag by the coat rack and slip off her shoes.

Draco wisely shut up upon sensing her mood and was thanking Merlin that Blaise too had enough common sense to be quiet.

"What's for dinner then?" Marg broke the silence, not even sparing a glance for Blaise nor Draco as she passive-aggressively puttered around the sitting area.

The two wizards jumped into action, "Yeah, we were just gonna get some takeout-" "-mobile, where's my bloody mobile? Takeout, takeout… could've sworn that just a second ago… right, oh yeah-"

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_Sorry for leaving you guys there and with such a boring chapter, but I'm hoping that the muse will hit when I don't feel so tired all the time (double ugh) and I get some better sleeping hours. I've just flown around a lot in a pretty short period of time and have summer prep courses on top of that, so I don't mean to complain but it's just that I've not been feeling too well. :( _

_Well, I hope that you all feel a million times better than I do right now and that you guys hold out for me! Have a good holiday break everyone, and I'll definitely try not to keep you guys waiting!_


	8. in which tea and biscuits are to be had

_Well hello there, everyone; this update has in fact been quite a long time coming but luckily, I've aaaaalmost ironed out what I want from this story arc and also (maybe a little more romantically) how Molly and Draco will, in fact, get together!_

_Thanks to everyone once again for supporting this story; I never thought I'd get the response that I did for some absentminded headcanon that I had one day, so thank you so, so much! _

_This one's a bit of a filler, but there'll be some conflict (and also some Harry!) coming pretty soon! :D_

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Dinner was a quiet affair.

Molly studiously ignored the two fidgeting boys and the bottomless pits shoveled takeout into their mouths as they fidgeted under Molly's careful not-gaze.

As she said before- a quiet affair.

* * *

It was really not a great time to be John Watson, seeing as he was getting bloody chased around Leicester-bloody-Square at bloody _midnight_.

_Midnight!_ He was really getting too old for this.

* * *

On the contrary, it was pretty lovely to be Sherlock Holmes at the moment, since he was chasing a filthy-mouthed white collar criminal around Leicester Square with his very best, and perhaps only, friend.

Nothing better to do on an early Thursday morning, after all.

* * *

"So," Blaise said awkwardly, "about those wards…" Draco groaned soundlessly at the sheer tactlessness of his friend and the growing ire from his _other_ friend.

"What about the wards, Blaise dearest?" Marg asked sweetly, pursing her lips in an aggravated smile. "Well," the Italian boy fumbled, "could we possibly maybe perhaps… uh…" "Check on them?" She provided, a razor-sharp threat in her tone. "Erm." Blaise looked to Draco for backup but the platinum blonde shook his head fearfully, glancing over at the irate young woman sitting across from them. Her face smoothed over in a feral grin and Draco could've sworn he wet his trousers in terror; a Mary Margaret gunning for her kill was a scary Mary Margaret indeed.

Luckily Blaise was in agreement and he backed off, conceding that there was no way that he'd win this round. Especially against an exquisitely politically-trained Lady of her House.

* * *

The rest of the week went by blessedly quickly for Molly. Sherlock was petulantly ignoring her after her outburst at the morgue at the beginning of the week and her 'mysterious' connections with her 'mysterious' friends; said 'mysterious' friends were acting as though they were treading on thin ice- it was always nice to show them who was really in control, but she was planning on letting them up soon like the benevolent, wise young woman that she was.

Plus she had a nice Saturday planned with Hermione, who was surprisingly a good friend of hers, even with her two best friends being the snooty, over-privileged Slytherins that they were. All said with the greatest affection, of course.

Though maybe not from Hermione.

Anywho, the girl was lovely and insightful and Molly couldn't wish for a greater intellectual equal. One of the only other witches that she knew that had studied both Muggle and Magical subjects and had gone through qualifying levels in both, much like herself.

_Plus_, Molly mused absently, Hermione would surely get along well with Sherlock.

Hm, actually maybe Mycroft. More mature and most _definitely_ her type.

...well, she'd get started on that later.

* * *

"Moll!" a brunette Ministry worker ran up to her excitedly.

"Mione," the younger girl replied amicably, "you seem tons healthier than when we last met, good on you!"

Hermione laughed, "Yeah, Ron and I decided to break up since we both agreed our relationship was putting strain on the rest of our lives- I think we've both been feeling a lot better since…" her gaze was pensive as she stared at something only she could see before her gaze snapped back to the former Ravenclaw girl, "and you? Have you and that detective of yours gotten your acts together and made a move?" She teased.

Molly blushed demurely. "Oh no, Sherlock's not interested in _that _way towards me."

"Oh please, there's no one that wouldn't be interested in _that _way towards you," Hermione mocked her affectionately.

"Well either way," Molly efficiently changed the subject of the conversation and was extremely grateful that the shrewd Gryffindor girl allowed her to, "shall we go for some tea?"

A gracious nod was directed her way and the two witches Disapparated off to a good Muggle tea shop in the middle of Piccadilly that they were both partial to.

Tea and scones were marvellous to gossip over, after all.

* * *

Marg arrived back home in a seemingly much better mood after her tea with Granger, but Draco really didn't want to be taking any chances, especially with the girl's occasionally temperamental moods.

He ultimately decided on the safest topic of conversation with her: Muggle life. Marg was suitably excited about being able to live a Muggle life and Draco was suitably interested in whatever his best friend was excited about.

All in all, a failsafe topic and twenty points to Slytherin, he mentally cheered.

…and it worked like a charm. Marg was smiling and gesturing elegantly with her hands to punctuate her anecdotes, and he was grinning like a loon, captivated by her-

-Merlin's balls. He was in love with his best friend.

The Italian idiot would be spitting out his drink from laughter if he ever heard a whiff of _that_.

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_Mwahahahah :D_


	9. in which apartments are attacked

_Jeez, I really wanted to have this out earlier but time just flew by! School's started and it's already killing me! Hope you enjoy this chapter everyone! Harry is (finally~) here!_

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Molly and Hermione did actually have tea together again; unsurprisingly since their last get-together was probably the highlight of both of their weeks.

"-oh, and did I tell you about the boys being all 'oh Margie but your wards just aren't good enough!'?" Molly mocked in a high-pitched voice.

Hermione raised a brow in reply and leaned forward ever-so-slightly in a 'go on' gesture.

"_Well_," Molly intoned, "Narcissa told me that Rabastan was loose and that Harry wasn't going to go after him, I totally understand by the way, and that the next available person to go to was me."

Hermione nodded, her mouth twisted in a small frown. "Everything was draining him so much and Ron and I both advised him to stay out of it, but we had no idea that the next choice was you…"

Molly shook her head, "No, I completely understand- I was feeling too overwhelmed at the end of the War and I need to make my entrance back into the Wizarding World and clean up some of the mess that I caused." Her Gryffindor friend nodded reluctantly, seeing the logic in the argument but Molly could see that she was also battling to keep down any objections.

"_Anyways_," the younger Ravenclaw changed the subject, "I still need to tell you about the ward thing." Hermione looked appeased for the time being and nodded again in encouragement. "So, I was going back to work on Monday and setting wards around the hospital to safeguard it early from Lestrange and get this- Blaise has the _audacity _to suggest that they could 'help' to put some up! As if I don't know his family wards inside-out and could weave wards around Bart's _in my sleep_! And Draco had the nerve to agree with him!"

Hermione laughed. "It seems that _someone's_ angry that lover-boy won't take her side," she teased. Molly huffed in mock indignation and crossed her arms petulantly, only making the young woman across the table laugh harder.

"For the last time, Mione, _Draco is not my lover-boy_!"

* * *

"_Reducto!_" A harsh red light bounced harmlessly off a seemingly-innocent door.

"_Incendio!_" Bright flames shot up from the ground starting a metre or so away from said door, but the more serious wards around it hadn't yet been activated.

"_Confringo!" _The first layer of carefully-woven protective spells were down and a young half-blood Heir in the middle of London City was alerted.

"_Deprimo!_" And then came the loud crack of Apparation and Rabastan Lestrange turned to face his fate.

* * *

"Merlin's balls, my apartment wards went off-" Molly scrambled to get up and into an alleyway to safely Disapparate.

Hermione sprinted determinedly after the younger girl, grabbing her hand just before she spun on her heel and thought fiercely of getting back to her home.

After all, it would be rude to keep Lestrange waiting. The more, the merrier, no?

Upon arrival, Molly had the honour of casting the first spell in the direction of bastard that was destroying her flat. He'd whipped around upon hearing the distinctive 'crack' of Apparation and blindly cast a _protego_, causing Molly's Stunner to bounce back at the two witches; not really a problem since it was relatively easy to dodge.

A duel ensued between Rabastan, Molly and Hermione. Short and sweet, Molly thought, a grim smile making its way onto her face as she watched Hermione shoot off a Reductor to blast his shield to bits. Molly was about to tag-team the ex-Death Eater right before he Disapparated.

"Escaped." Hermione bit out angrily, brandishing her wand to furiously repair the damage done to her friend's apartment complex's lovely beige corridor.

"Escaped." Molly agreed with just as much vitriol as her bushy-haired companion. "Better report this to the Auror Department then. They won't be glad to hear that he's already on my tail," she sighed.

Hermione sighed in reply, the tired note in her breath conveying just how much she liked the idea. "Let's go then."

* * *

Suffice to say that it was _not _a happy day for Mycroft Holmes when he was briefed from the current Minister of Magic and the Head of the Auror Department about the level of danger that his younger brother and that ex-army doctor were being put in for associating with one Molly Hooper.

And apparently she was a Lady- Mary Margaret, Head of the Noble House of Selwyn.

Well, he could definitely say that he was rather caught off-guard by _that _particular piece of information, somehow previously unknown to him; the mousy girl that Sherlock had only mentioned in passing in the few times that Mycroft had come to interrogate him about his more high-profile cases was in a position of considerable power in the hidden world of magicals.

He managed to keep a bland expression and sip his tea calmly, even as he was planning on bringing the girl in for a talk.

Making sure that she was well aware of the consequences if his brother got pulled into some Wizarding mess- that he was in no power to get the little berk out of, mind her- was quite the priority now.

He quietly typed off a text to his PA on his mobile to clear out his 14:00 meeting.

Hopefully, the Lady Selwyn would know to bring her A-game; that quiet, stuttering mess of a girl that Sherlock had originally described had no place in the office of one of the most powerful men in Great Britain.

And Mycroft was quite interested to know the true face of the girl behind the demise of what seemed to be quite a powerful follower of that elitist that had plagued the Wizarding World only a few years ago, that is, if what their government officials said was to be believed.

* * *

Harry Potter pressed his lips together unattractively, only taking notice of them when Hermione, his best friend of many years, made a noise of indignation at his impromptu duckface and waved her hand in the general direction of his offence.

Wisely, the Mighty Saviour of the Wizarding World chose to un-pout his lips.

"So," he began slowly, "Lestrange _actually _found your apartment? We weren't aware he had any contacts since his escape, and the implication that he does is..."

"Troubling." The little Ravenclaw girl- Mary Margaret, her name was, finished for him.

"Precisely."

She pursed her lips in thought. Hermione once again made her noise of indignation, and the girl quickly smoothed out her elfish features once again, much to Harry's amusement.

"We should tell Kings." Hermione stated.

"Agreed." Both Harry and Mary Margaret immediately replied.

"Oh," the girl piped up happily, "did I mention how kind it was for you to forsake your honeymoon with Ginny for this?"

Harry groaned in embarrassment. Hermione snickered.

* * *

"He _what_?" Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt thundered. He was just short of uncouthly slamming his hands down on his desk. Luckily, he'd become the epitome of pureblood manners upon taking up the title of Minister since he did, after all, need to keep a good image in order to stay in office.

"..."

"Rabastan Lestrange has-"

"My flat was warded, I swear-"

"-a Blasting Curse or something-"

"-can't even eat a graham cracker, Merlin's sweaty balls!"

Kingsley blinked incomprehensibly at the two young witches and one young Saviour of the Wizarding World. "One at a time please, children."

Lady Selwyn grunted in an unladylike fashion, stepping up and reliably informing him of the attempted raid of her flat. Hermione affirmed the tale and gave her own input when it was required. Harry just nodded along and 'mm-hmm'ed at all the right spots. Kingsley hummed thoughtfully. "Lady Selwyn, you're in acquaintance with Lord Malfoy and Mister Zabini, are you not?"

"I do happen to be friends with Draco and Blaise, yes. And Mary Margaret or Molly, if you please, Minister."

"Kingsley then, Mary Margaret. Would you be so kind as to arrange aegis with them? They've filed for your protection and accommodation in the case of emergency or danger." She rolled her eyes fondly in response and nodded exasperatedly. "Of course they have."

Hermione leaned forwards and whispered something to the girl that caused her to swat wildly at the snickering young woman. Harry and Kingsley exchanged clueless looks over the girls' heads and agreed that they had no idea what in Morgana's name they were doing with even-more-clueless shrugs.

And as the Minister of Magic, Kingsley did think that he had better-than-average people-reading skills. Perhaps females were a bit too out of his spectrum of analysis.

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_Thoughts on this one? :) _


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